


somebody told me

by orphan_account



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 16:37:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6058453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What,” Thomas says, grabbing the phone out of Minho’s hands despite his protests, “is so much more important that…what the hell is this?” </p><p>He finds himself looking at some kind of group chat between his friends, if all the messages displayed are anything to go by. At the top of the screen, the conversation’s name is prominently displayed: IDIOTS IN LOVE. Thomas’ eyebrows furrow together, and he reads through the last few lines sent, his confusion only growing. </p><p>
  <i>Minho (October 4, 4:43 PM): False alarm, guys. He hasn’t realized it yet. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Gally (October 4, 4:44 PM): Jesus. How clueless can one person be??? </i>
</p><p><i>Teresa (October 4, 4:44 PM): That idiot.</i> </p><p>Thomas looks up at Minho in disbelief. “You guys have a <i>group chat</i> about me and Newt?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	somebody told me

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [somebody told me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7476483) by [batmenvera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/batmenvera/pseuds/batmenvera)



The first time someone asks Thomas if he’s dating Newt, he’s so surprised that he somehow manages to trip on his own two feet, face plant into an open locker door, and when the person just stares at him in response, Thomas can only mumble out a garbled answer he _really_ hopes is just the product of how socially awkward he can get sometimes and not because of a concussion he might have received from that spectacular (albeit embarrassing) fall. 

Aris, and Thomas _barely_ knows the guy, okay, he has _no_ right to be asking him such personal questions about his nonexistent love life (even if said question is so far out of the left field, Thomas is slightly mind boggled. Where do people even get these ideas? High school is so weird), just gives him a tiny shrug in response, like he knows better but doesn’t want to bother challenging Thomas in his slightly incapacitated state (in fairness, his head _is_ throbbing like a bitch), before making his way down the hall leaving Thomas is a haze of complete bewilderment. 

The thing is, Thomas would have probably forgotten about the incident had it been a one time thing. He supposes his almost complete disregard for Newt’s personal space and the fact that they’ve been best friends since they were five could give some people the wrong impression. But as the week goes on, he has the most random people come up to him and either ask the same question Aris did, or worse, comment on how much of a cute couple he and Newt make. (Thomas will never, _ever_ live down the experience of having Mr. Jorge stop him after class only to be handed the number of a local doctor should they ever want to test themselves, because, honestly, Thomas, safety first.) 

Okay, so it’s not like Thomas sees anything wrong with the idea of being with Newt. Newt is kind of stupidly perfect with his British accent, perpetually styled blonde hair, and there’s something about his smile that seems to always brighten Thomas’ day. But Newt’s also his best friend in the world and Thomas really blames romantic comedies for the idea that two people who sit closer to each other than normal and occasionally do things like cuddle cannot simply be friends. Honestly, it’s the twenty-first century. People really need to broaden their minds. 

Things come to a head the day Sonya arrives at school. Everyone had been talking about the new girl all morning, and when Thomas walks into his history class and finds her sitting by the window, he wastes no time in going over and engaging her in conversation. It goes pretty well in Thomas’ opinion. Well enough for her to wave at him as she heads off in the opposite direction once the class ends, anyway. Thomas spends most of his next two periods before lunch in a happy sort of daze that all comes to a screeching halt once the lunch bell rings. 

He’s making his way towards the cafeteria when he hears a familiar voice call his name from behind. “Hey, Sonya,” he says, turning around to face her. He jams his hands in his pockets in some attempt to look effortlessly cool. (God, if Teresa was here, she’d be smirking so hard right now.) “What’s up?”

“I just wanted to apologize,” Sonya answers, and Thomas feels his eyebrows shoot right up into his hairline. Before he can ask her what she’s talking about, she continues. “I had no idea about you and Newt. I just met him and he’s a really sweet guy, you guys seem good together.” She looks so earnest Thomas can only blink at her in response. 

“I—” Thomas can actually feel the gears in his brain slow and grind to a halt. “Newt and I aren’t together,” he replies weakly.

Sonya’s eyes widen in surprise and her hand flies to cover her mouth. “Oh! I’m so sorry! I had no idea it was a secret. It’s just that people were saying—anyway, I promise I won’t tell anyone. I’m really sorry again, Thomas, I’ll see you later!” With that, she walks past him down the hall. 

“What the hell?” Thomas asks the empty hallway. 

The hallway, predictably, does not offer anything in response. Thomas sighs and continues walking in the direction of the cafeteria, all the while wondering when his life is going to start making sense again. At this rate, this year is going to be his weirdest one yet.

—

Luckily for Thomas, lunch seems to be the one thing that stays unchanged: Minho throws longing glances at Teresa, Alby and Brenda engage in some kind of argument, leafing through textbooks to support their points, and Gally simultaneously shoves food into his mouth and sends death glares at anyone who looks in his direction. This is all lost on Thomas as he spends most of the break sitting pressed against Newt, one arm slung around his shoulders, smiling whenever he catches Newt’s eye. 

It’s only when he notices Chuck winking at him from across the room does the weirdness of the last few days slam into him again. When Newt excuses himself to go to the bathroom, Thomas opens his mouth to talk to his friends, but Gally beats him to it. 

“You all see that new girl, Sonya?” Gally asks. How he manages to be so articulate with a mouth full of food, Thomas has no idea. 

Teresa wrinkles her nose at him before replying. “You, too? Minho here’s been drooling all day.” 

“I have _not_ ,” Minho retorts. Considering the size of his crush on Teresa, Thomas is somewhat inclined to believe him. 

“Actually, about Sonya,” Thomas begins, “the weirdest thing happened—”

“Oh, well, of course _you_ tried to flirt with her,” Brenda says, rolling her eyes fondly.

Alby actually looks up from his textbook and grins at Thomas. “Find her cute, do you?” There’s something about the expression on his face that makes Thomas feel like he’s not in on the joke.

“That better have been a rhetorical question,” Teresa adds, smirking. Yeah, something is definitely up. Teresa only smirks at Thomas when she knows something he doesn’t. Which is admittedly about eighty percent of the time, but despite their frequent appearances, Thomas never gets over how unnerving it is.

“For fuck’s sake,” Gally says in disgust. “I’m trying to eat.” 

“Okay, what—” Thomas starts. “Am I…am I missing something here?” He takes back everything he said about lunch being normal. Frankly, Thomas is starting to wonder if he’s entered some kind of alternate universe. He feels like he’s trapped in an episode of _The Twilight Zone_. 

Just then, Newt walks back towards their table and returns to his place next to Thomas. “You alright there, Tommy?” he asks, smirking slightly. “You look even more baffled than usual.” 

“Newt!” Thomas exclaims in relief, partially forgetting that he’s the reason for all the drama in Thomas’ life. “Thank God you’re back, they’re being mean to me.” He ends his statement by dramatically burying his head in Newt’s shoulder. “Say you’ll never keep things from me,” he says piteously, looking up at Newt with a beseeching expression on his face. 

“I’ll never keep things from you,” Newt repeats seriously. But from the way his lips are quirked up at the corners, Thomas can tell he’s fighting a laugh. 

Thomas sighs then shoots Newt a grin. “This is why I love you, man.” Newt smiles back, holding Thomas’ gaze for a beat longer than necessary. And in those three seconds, Thomas’ life takes a turn off the Route of Mild Confusion and heads straight onto the Highway to Hell. Honestly, he blames everyone else for putting the idea that he and Newt would actually be good together in his head, because when his gaze drops to Newt’s lips for a split second, he sort of wonders what it would maybe be like to kiss him. 

That’s when everything goes to shit. 

Thomas freezes, his mind trying to slam on the metaphorical brakes before it starts to build on this train of thought, but it’s too late. Because he can _see_ it. He can see himself kissing Newt, fingers digging into his hips, pulling him flush against him, already knowing how their bodies would fit together, what Newt’s weight would feel like on top of him. His can see himself running his hands through Newt’s hair, cradling his face in his hands, how Newt’s breath would feel like fanning across his face. It sort of hits Thomas with all the force of a speeding truck how natural all of those things would feel. The impact doubles in momentum when he’s struck by how much he actually _wants_ them. 

He supposes there is some truth to romantic comedies after all. 

“Tommy?” Newt’s concerned voice filters in through the messes that are his current thought processes and jolts him back into his still confusing reality. “What’s going on in there?” he asks, waving a hand in front of Thomas’ face. “I’ve said your name about five times.” 

Thomas isn’t sure there’s a proper way to tell your best friend you might be interested in kissing him, but he’s pretty certain doing so in a noisy cafeteria in front of your group of friends isn’t exactly the standard. Instead he says the most intelligible thing he’s capable of uttering at the moment: “Um.” Newt just cocks his head to one side, puzzled at his reply. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Thomas chances a glance at Teresa, and if possible, her smirk has gotten even…smirkier. Thomas maybe has an idea of what that one means now. “I think he’s just figured a few things out.” Beside her, Minho lets out an honest-to-God cackle. 

Thomas is so, so fucked.

—

“I,” Thomas declares with all the dramatics of a Shakespearean actor, “have a problem.” He’s lying on Minho’s bedroom floor, eyes trained on the ceiling. 

Beside him, Minho doesn’t even bother turning away from his laptop. “Is this about you being in love with Newt? Because honestly, bro, it’s not exactly news. So, what do you think about the French Revolution?” 

Thomas cannot believe Minho. Here he is, trying to talk about the crisis of his life, and all Minho wants to do is discuss French politics. Some friend. “This is a big deal!” he cries, propping himself up on his elbows. “I just realized—wait did you say I’m in love with him? Who said anything about being in love?” he demands. 

“Oh my God.” If possible, Minho sounds even more uninterested. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts typing. “Isn’t that what all those hysterics during lunch were about yesterday?” 

“I was _not_ hysterical,” Thomas objects. Okay, so maybe he had spent the rest of the break refusing to look anyone in the eye and in his haste to avoid Newt as they left the cafeteria, he had walked into a post, but he wasn’t _hysterical_. Just…surprised. 

“Seriously, I’m not in love with Newt,” Thomas stresses. He then sucks in a breath and squares his shoulders, knowing that what he’s about to say may come as a huge surprise. “I just maybe want to kiss him.” 

Thomas had prepared himself for some kind of outburst, maybe a few perplexed questions, maybe even a violent reaction. But Minho doesn’t even so much as blink. “Because you’re in love with him,” he replies tonelessly, fingers tapping away at his cellphone. 

“What,” Thomas says, grabbing the phone out of Minho’s hands despite his protests, “is so much more important that…what the hell is this?” 

He finds himself looking at some kind of group chat between his friends, if all the messages displayed are anything to go by. At the top of the screen, the conversation’s name is prominently displayed: IDIOTS IN LOVE. Thomas’ eyebrows furrow together, and he reads through the last few lines sent, his confusion only growing. 

_Minho (October 4, 4:43 PM): False alarm, guys. He hasn’t realized it yet._

_Gally (October 4, 4:44 PM): Jesus. How clueless can one person be???_

_Teresa (October 4, 4:44 PM): That idiot._

Thomas looks up at Minho in disbelief. “You guys have a _group chat_ about me and Newt?” 

Minho doesn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed. “Yeah?” 

“How far back does this thing go?” Thomas starts scrolling upwards, catching bits and pieces from various conversations over the last few months. 

_Gally (September 25, 1:34 PM): Gag me. I think I caught Thomas checking out Newt’s ass._

_Brenda (September 25, 1:37 PM): No way!!!_

_Alby (September 25, 1:37 PM): Unfortunately, he’s telling the truth._

Thomas gapes at Minho, who is looking at the screen over his shoulder. He had _not_ been checking out Newt’s ass. Newt had been wearing really nice jeans that day and Thomas had been admiring them…from afar. That’s all. He looks back down and continues scrolling. 

_Minho (August 13, 3:56 PM): Remember that really ugly sweater Thomas had been raving about? Well, guess who just bought it for him._

_Teresa (August 13, 3:57 PM): Wish I had a boyfriend to buy me stuff._

_Gally (August 13, 3:57 PM): I think I know someone who’d volunteer for that._

_Brenda (August 13, 4:00 PM): Are we thinking about the same person, Gally?_

_Teresa (August 13, 4:02 PM): Who???_

_Teresa (August 13, 4:08 PM): Guys?_

_Minho (August 13, 4:23 PM): Hey, let’s get back to Thomas and Newt. Look what I took._

_Minho (August 13, 4:25 PM):_ Attachment (1)

Thomas suppresses an eye roll at Minho’s obvious attempt to change the topic and clicks on the link. When it downloads, he finds himself looking at a photo of him and Newt. In it, he’s wearing the sweater, proudly facing Newt with a huge grin. Newt’s beaming back, and the expression on his face can only be described as fond. Thomas remembers this day, remembers Newt surprising him and Thomas pulling him into a hug right in the middle of the mall. The longer Thomas stares at the picture, the more he starts to notice things he hadn’t realized before. For one thing, has he always looked at Newt with this much…adoration? 

“I don’t really look at him like that, do I?” Thomas asks. His head is starting to spin under the weight of everything that’s piling up in front of him. 

Minho gives him a pitying glance. “Half of the time, it’s like your eyeballs are about to fall out of your skull.” 

“But he—but I—” Thomas has officially lost the ability to formulate complete sentences. Due to the fact that his brain seems to have crashed like a shitty computer program, he isn’t too surprised by this. “We’re just friends,” he insists pathetically. 

Somehow, Minho’s expression grows even more sympathetic. “You took him out for dinner last Valentine’s Day.” 

“We were studying together and got hungry!” Thomas counters. “I didn’t even know it was the fourteenth!” 

Minho crosses his arms over his chest. Battle mode, then. “You know that thing you guys do where you get different meal options so you can share food?” Thomas nods. “That doesn’t strike you as weird at all?” 

“Brenda and Alby do the same thing,” Thomas points out. 

Minho gives him a look of complete incredulity, like he can’t believe someone can possibly be this slow. “Brenda and Alby are _dating_.” 

This finally stops Thomas in his tracks. “Oh. Right.” 

Minho sighs. “Do I even need to mention the signed Paul McCartney record you got him for his birthday?”

“But it was his birthday!” Thomas argues. 

“It was four hundred dollars, Thomas,” Minho replies, taking on the tone of a parent talking to their unruly child. “Would you spend four hundred dollars on me?” When Thomas doesn’t immediately reply, Minho nods. “Didn’t think so.” 

Thomas decides not to mention that the way Newt had gripped his hand and smiled at him, looking at Thomas in this way he hasn’t been able to fully describe, more than made up for the ridiculous amount of money he had spent. He also chooses not to bring up the smaller, more subtle things that are slowly filtering in through the haze in his head. Like how Newt is the only person in the world who can read him like a book. And that one (seriously, _one_ ) dream he had about the two of them that left him hot and sweaty and wishing for a cold shower. 

“Is this why Sonya—” Thomas tries to say, but Minho cuts him off. 

“Right, Sonya,” he drawls. “You wanna know why you found her cute?” Before Thomas can do so much as nod, Minho goes on. “I’ll tell you why. She looks like a girl version of Newt.” 

Thomas’ mouth drops open in shock. He _cannot_ be that much of a loser. “She does not!” he challenges, an image of Sonya’s face floating into his head. Aside from the blonde hair, Thomas really doesn’t see that much of a resemblance. Okay, so maybe they’ve got the same eye color. Lots of people have the same eye color. And facial structure. And skin tone. “Oh, fuck, she does.” 

Minho raises an eyebrow at him. “Do you believe me now?” 

“I—” Everything is building up in front of him, little moments of fleeting touches and warmth and the unsubtle comments of their friends. The way Newt is the only person Thomas wants to see every day for the rest of his life, how Thomas knows he’d follow him just about anywhere. It’s the way he’ll sometimes catch himself just watching Newt, thinking, _Yes_. Suddenly, a lot more things are starting to make sense.

“Oh my God!” Thomas cries. “I’m in love with Newt!” 

In the most empathetic voice Thomas has ever heard come from another human being, Minho looks at him straight on and says, “Fucking finally.” 

“What do I do?” Thomas asks despairingly. 

“I don’t care what you do, man. Talk to him, propose to him, throw pebbles at his bedroom window.” Minho shrugs. “Just _do_ something about it.” 

Just then, the phone in Thomas’ hand vibrates. The two of them look down and read the new messages onscreen. 

_Gally (October 4, 5:34 PM): Minho, you still there? How’s it going with The Boy Who Cried Platonic?_

_Alby (October 4, 5:35 PM): Just saw this now. Please tell me you got him to do something about it._

Before Minho can do anything, Thomas starts typing and hits the send button.

_Minho (October 4, 5:36 PM): This is Thomas. I hate you guys and you all suck._

_Minho (October 4, 5:36 PM): Teresa, Minho’s been in love with you ever since he accidentally peed on you in seventh grade._

“You _asshole_!” Minho growls, making a grab for his phone, which has begun buzzing steadily. 

_Gally (October 4, 5:37 PM): OMFG FINALLY._

_Alby (October 4, 5:37 PM): I knew it._

_Brenda (October 4, 5:37 PM): It’s about time!!!_

_Teresa (October 4, 5:38 PM): Um?_

“I think I’ll leave you to deal with this one on your own,” Thomas says, tossing the phone back to Minho. Despite the fact that his head feels like its about to explode, the look of pure panic on Minho’s face is enough to make him laugh as he walks out of the room.

—

Thomas will later blame the brain damage that all the overthinking and walking into walls and such caused for the fact that he actually takes Minho’s advice on what to do about Newt. Not the proposal part, but the talking to him part. And the part about throwing pebbles at his window. 

“Tommy?” Newt hisses from the second floor. “What the fuck are you doing out here? It’s four in the bloody morning.” 

“I need to talk to you,” Thomas says, trying to sound completely calm and not at all like he almost turned around three times while he was walking here. 

“Yeah, alright,” Newt replies, and Thomas is eternally grateful for the way Newt puts up with every single ridiculous thing he does. Showing up on his front lawn unannounced in the early morning being one of them. Thomas sort of loves (oh, God, he _loves_ Newt, how did he never notice this before?) him even more for it. “Give me two minutes.” 

It’s easily the longest two minutes of Thomas’ life. When the door finally opens and Newt walks out onto his lawn, hair rumpled and arms crossed over the thin fabric of his T-shirt, Thomas lets out an audible swallow. He takes a deep breath, ready to launch into the speech he prepared, but what comes out instead is, “I like you.”

Newt frowns at him, smiling slightly. “I like you, too. You didn’t have to come all the way here just to tell me that.” 

“No,” Thomas says determinedly, even though every nerve in his body is screaming for him to just shut up. “I really, really like you.” 

Newt’s expression morphs into something strangely reminiscent of the look Minho had given him a few hours earlier. “I really, really like you, too.” 

“Ugh!” Thomas groans. He decides to just fuck it and grabs Newt’s arm, looking him straight in the eye. “No, you know what, I don’t just _like_ you. I’m pretty sure it’s more than that. No, I’m _sure_ it’s more than that. I’m in love with you. You know, not to be creepy about it, but I think I have been for a really long time. I’m just so clueless that it took me forever to realize that I kind of want to kiss you and hold hands and buy you gifts that mean something and—” 

“Tommy!” Newt yells, effectively stopping the torrent of words coming out of Thomas’ mouth. Which, in retrospect, Thomas should really thank him for. God only knows what would have come out of his mouth had Newt let him go on longer. “You’re an idiot.” 

“I’ve been told,” Thomas concedes. 

“No, it’s just…” Newt trails off, shaking his head. “I thought you already knew.” 

“What am I supposed to know?” Thomas asks with dread. “I don’t know anything!” Oh, God, Newt knows about the sex dream. He has to. He’s probably going to let Thomas down easy, and once he does, Thomas is going to run away to a monastery. 

“I’m in love with you, too,” Newt replies, looking at Thomas with an expression so exasperated yet warm, Thomas can’t help but smile in the face of the anxiety still curling around in his stomach. “Actually, I’ve been kind of telling everyone that we’re together.” 

“ _What?_ ” Thomas exclaims. Well, that certainly explains…everything. Trust him to be the last person to know he’s in a relationship. Then again, Newt’s always been ten steps ahead of him, anyway. “You should have told me!” 

Newt huffs. “I was waiting for your shuck face to figure it out on your own. I didn’t think it would take this bloody long.” 

Despite himself, Thomas rolls his eyes. “Come on, man. You know me. I never figure things out until you hit me on the head with it.” 

Newt opens his mouth to reply, but then he abruptly closes it, his mouth curling into a smirk instead, his eyes taking on a glint Thomas isn’t sure he likes the look of. Before Thomas can fully process what’s happening, Newt’s pulling him forward and pressing their mouths together, claiming Thomas’ lips in a dizzying, burning kiss that leaves Thomas fisting his hands into the cotton of Newt’s shirt, the warmth of their bodies radiating against each other. 

When they finally pull apart for air, Newt’s looking at him the same way he did on his birthday when Thomas handed him the record that he had bought. The only difference now is, Thomas thinks he might finally know what that look means. That alone sends a wave of happiness crashing over him, lifting him up until he feels like he could just float away into the night, buoyed by his own joy. 

“That give you enough of an idea?” Newt asks with a smirk. 

Thomas grins at him. “I don’t know,” he replies, pulling Newt close to him again. “I think I may need a little more convincing.” 

Newt laughs, warm and bright, and Thomas never wants to live without this again. “Anything for you.”

—

The following Monday, Teresa walks into the cafeteria, greets Minho with a kiss, and their whole table lets out a cheer. 

“Finally.” Brenda sighs happily, leaning her head on Alby’s shoulder. “You guys are so cute together.” 

“Hey!” Thomas complains from his seat across the table. “Is nobody going to comment on this?” he asks, gesturing between him and Newt. Their friends had barely spared a glance in their direction when Thomas had walked towards their table, Newt’s hand in his. 

Gally scoffs. “Please, you guys have been dating since forever. Face it, you’re old news.” 

Thomas opens his mouth to challenge that statement, but then Newt threads their fingers together, and Thomas looks down at their entwined hands, once again marveling at how well they fit. 

“You’re right,” Thomas says happily, running his thumb across Newt’s knuckles with a grin. “We’ve been a long time coming.” Newt kisses him then, just a short, brief thing, but Thomas closes his eyes and revels in the feeling, anyway. 

It’s sort of absurdly perfect.

—

 **Minho has deactivated the group** IDIOTS IN LOVE **.** **He has sent the following personal message:** _Idiots finally got their shit together._

 _Gally (October 8, 2:34 PM): And so have you. Idiot._

_Minho (October 8, 2:34 PM): Fuck off._


End file.
